Dinner Served
The sun breaks through the coastal fog,
Replacing damp-chill hidden mysteries
With warm-wrapped scented dialogue
Between the sand-surf and an offshore breeze.
From shoreline poles the eagles stare
To watch a squawking beach-blown seagull flap
Its upraised wings in proffered prayer
In hopes of pecking up a wave-washed scrap.
Where azured sky meets sea-steeled blue
A soaring pelican abruptly stalls
With awkward, long-broad wings askew,
And with a fated fish in view, it falls.
A crashing splash as ocean spray,
Like crystal lava from a fissured cone,
Erupts, obscures, and blurs both prey
And predator. The drama’s end unknown,
Till phoenix-like, emerging, surging,
Wing-beat flailing, near-to-failing, rise!
Now airborne. Life and death converging.
Dinner served. An appetizing prize.
James A. Tweedie is a retired pastor living in Long Beach, Washington. He has written and published six novels, one collection of short stories, and four collections of poetry including Sidekicks, Mostly Sonnets, and Laughing Matters, all with Dunecrest Press. His poems have been published nationally and internationally in both print and online media. He was honored with being chosen as the winner of the 2021 SCP International Poetry Competition.
An alliterative treat. I loved the ironic, yet fully valid comparison with the phoenix when the pelican emerges with his din-dins.
Thanks for the read, James.